


Tearing a hole in your heart

by Bumbleberry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-02-06 08:25:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumbleberry/pseuds/Bumbleberry
Summary: The air is solid, forcing me to take tiny half breaths so I don’t crack my ribs.Held up on his elbows he shuffles closer so our thighs brush and he leans on one side so he’s almost hovered over me.Directly behind his head, the moon turns the periphery of his hair silver; a halo.





	1. Fatal fall

Only reflex keeps me from hurtling down the narrow stairs; sharp metal plated ones that would line my skin with long bruises. My ankle had twisted beneath me and instinctively I’d leap up to keep it from further damage- unwise on a staircase.

  
It burned hot and raw. I grunted with my leg held poised like some lame horse. It was a strange pain, almost invisible until I’d twitch it slightly and then heat would rush up, the tender kind which made me cringe at the idea of aggravating it.

  
I hobbled about on my step, near equal distance away from the floor above and below. I mused irritably that at least the majority of students were still in class and I wouldn’t be seen. I touch my foot to the ground tentatively to which my ankle replies with a resounding _no_. Option 1 would be to hobble back up the stairs and either seek help in the library or barricade myself in the toilets to assess the damage. Option 2 would involve tackling the steps down and finding my way to the school nurse across the opposite side of school. Neither were particularly tempting so I lowered myself to a seat on the step. _Great job, Cas._

  
I contemplated easing my shoe off to see if there was any visible damage but some childish instinct in me tells me if I can’t see, it hasn’t happened. Under a month into a new school and I’d already managed to injure myself. Not even in a magnificent display of sporting finesse but by stumbling over my own feet on a measly flight of stairs.

  
God I was pathetic.  
So deep was I in my wallowing that I didn’t notice the spritely footsteps until they were almost upon me.  
Crap, I thought desperately, should I try to act normal or just suck it up and ask for help-  
I’m half stood up and throwing a smile of reassurance to the concern I’m surely about to receive when bright green eyes are two inches from my face. They flicker over me with worry. Golden eyelashes too.  
If the slight frown and amused quirk of lips are anything to go by, I’ve been staring for an above average length of time. And apparently I’ve been asked a question that I’ve neglected to acknowledge.

  
‘‘I’m sorry, what?’’ I don’t stutter which is something.  
He smiles slowly and it builds until his eyes are crinkled and his lips are stretched wide. They’re nice lips too, a neat crease down the middle.  
He starts to talk and I remember you’re supposed to look at people’s eyes when they speak.

  
‘‘I said, you alright? Not having a breakdown, dunno why but stairs always seem to be the place to have ‘em.”  
He chuckles at himself, apparently assured I’m emotionally stable.

  
‘‘Oh, yes,’’ I dismiss quickly ‘’I’m quite fine.’’ And go to take a stride down the stairs to demonstrate how ‘fine’ I am, completely forgetting that my ankle is currently redundant. Unsurprisingly I yelp in pain and my knee buckles. Warm solid arms catch me with only a very slight surprised grunt.

  
‘‘Alright Buddy, lets just sit for a sec.”  
I’m lowered to the step with one palm resting cautiously on my shoulder as though I intend to make a run for it.  
He crouches below me and his eyes run down my extended leg clinically.

  
“I uh was just” it seems a little embarrassing to tell this obviously athletic boy how lacking my spatial awareness is.  
‘‘Well I kinda twisted my ankle I guess- on the stairs.’’ I add pointlessly. Nodding empathetically, he gives some kind of impression that this happens day to day and he regularly rescues injured boys from staircases.

  
‘‘Can I take a look?’’ He indicates my foot and I shrug. With remarkable care for large rough hands he tugs on the heel of my shoe. Wincing, I bend my foot slightly to slip it out and find myself drumming my fingers against the step as way of distraction. Of course today I choose to wear socks streaked with tiny bumblebees. His mouth curves up but he carefully peels them off without comment, taking care to hold the elastic away from the swollen flesh.

  
My mother once commented that I had slim feet, like a ballerina she said- which makes this bulbous appendage all the more comical in comparison. The bone of my ankle was indiscernible and a black bruise was snaking up the side.  
Marvellous.

  
‘‘That, my friend, is most definitely a sprained ankle.’’ He barely brushes a finger across it and my skin seethes.

  
‘‘Excellent.” I grumble and move to stand but am firmly pushed back to my seat.

  
‘‘Woah- you aren’t going anywhere by yourself, not sure if you caught a look at that but it ain’t magically healing anytime soon.’’ He has tiny constellations of freckles across the bridge of his nose and I wonder what image they’d make if I joined them up. Irrelevant, why am I thinking of that.  
Glaring up at him receives little more than a flash of teeth and crinkled eyes.

  
‘‘Then what would my saviour suggest.’’ I quip.

  
‘‘Dean, my name that is.’’  
There’s only one Dean and it is a household name between cliques of adolescent females. Dean Winchester.

  
‘‘Uhh Cas- Castiel, is my name.’’ I don’t know why I say it because he hasn’t asked and probably doesn’t care. It doesn’t carry the same status that Dean’s does but I’ve grown fond of it all the same.

‘‘That’s a cool name, would’ve thought I’d remember something like that. You one of the transfer students?’’ He seems genuinely interested and has rolled up my sock and tucked it into my shoe in a weirdly maternal gesture.

  
‘‘Yeah, I think we’re in the same year.’’ I know that we are but ‘stalkerish’ is never an ideal first impression so I feign ignorance.

  
‘‘No way, shame we don’t have any classes together.” He pauses “So I propose we head over to the nurse and she’ll ice it or whatever they do to sprains. She’s a babe, fixed me up from football more times than I can count.’’ He hooks an arm around my waist that I’m not entirely sure I require but certainly won’t question.  
Dean Winchester smells good- like really good. Vaguely of men’s aftershave with something warm and sweet slotted between. I lean against his side perhaps a little heavier than I need to but he doesn’t comment, just slides his palm further round to get a better grip.

  
‘‘I’ll tell ya something Cas,’’ I’m focused on trying to hop in time to his slow steps but I look up anyway. “You’re a hell of a lot friendlier than any of the other transfers I’ve met. Sticks so far up their arses they must be choking on them. What’s up with that?’’  
I chuckle wryly.

  
‘‘Yeah- um school was pretty heavy with the discipline. You did what you were told.”

  
‘‘Cept you.‘’ He says.

  
‘‘Hmmm?”

  
‘‘Except you. Sounds like you weren’t quite as in line with everyone else,’’ he catches my expression and chuckles. ‘’Don’t give me that look, I’m glad you weren’t the perfect little student. Blind obedience ain’t so good.’’  
His tone darkens.

  
‘‘You don’t strike me as remotely obedient, Dean Winchester.’’ I say and that perks him up, perhaps because it’s clear I’ve learnt of his reputation or because I’ve used his full name.

  
‘‘You just gotta ask nicely Cas and I’m all yours.’’ He winks but Dean is a notorious philanderer and it must be instinctual by now. I snort anyway as we round the corner.

  
‘‘Shouldn’t you be in class, Dean. I had a free period.”  
His eyes sparkle.

  
‘‘Lisa Braeden asked me to meet by the tennis courts but I got caught up saving a damsel in distress.’’ He winks at me and I splutter but pretend it’s because he called me a damsel.

  
‘‘Dean I would hate to have torn you away from such pressing matters as Lisa Braeden.’’ But he just shrugs indifferently.

  
‘‘Nah she’ll have snatched up the next footballer to pass her by now, she ain’t fussy. Besides I think I was required here more.’’  
We are stood directly below a large printed sign stating that we have reached the office of the school nurse.

  
‘‘This is me then.’’ I say it like he’s walked me home after a date and I want to invite him inside but know I shouldn’t. He just snorts and pushes open the door.

  
‘‘You think I’m gunna leave you to hobble in by yourself? You’re a funny one Cas.’’  
The nurse is indeed a ‘babe’ and is apparently well enough acquainted with Dean to allow him to stay.  
She leaves us in an empty room opposite her office and warns me to keep the weight off my foot. Currently it’s elevated on the chair beside me and tightly swaddled in a cold compress, throbbing.

‘‘God my Dad would kill me if I ended up spraining my ankle.’’ Dean is tracing the pattern someone has carved into the armrest with his forefinger.

  
‘‘Why?’’  
He glances up looking almost surprised that he spoke aloud.

  
“Uh well I couldn’t play any more football if I was injured. Probably wouldn’t be able to drive for a bit so wouldn’t be able to pick Sammy up or get to school.”

  
‘‘Surely your father would be more concerned with your wellbeing than anything else?”  
I receive a humourless huff at that and his gaze is focused again on the track of his fingers.

  
‘‘Nah my Dad he- he wants us to be something, no time for injuries. When he’s around that is.”  
There’s a tight pucker between his brows and I can see his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip.

  
‘‘I’m sorry to hear that Dean.’’

  
‘‘S’okay, not your problem. Speaking of, how are you getting home with your foot out of action?’’  
It’s an effective distraction. Normally I’d walk but that isn’t looking likely.

  
“I guess I can ask my brother what time he finishes work and just wait at school for a bit.”  
Dean raises an eyebrow.

  
“How long is ‘a bit’?”  
I shrug.

  
“maybe an hour.”  
If I can even get Gabriel to come, I think sourly. I’d barely seen him the past week. An unmade bed each morning and the gradual emptying of the lucky charms box being the only indicators that he even lived there.

  
‘‘That settles it then. ’’  
Dean pulls me sharply to my feet- or foot I should say. He grins down and damn does that knock your breath from you.

  
‘‘I’ll drive ya home Cas.’’

  
‘‘No Dean, you don’t need to do that, I’m sure you have other plans.’’ I attempt obstinately to refuse but it’s awfully difficult when his supporting hand around my waist pulls up my shirt slightly and his pinky finger is against my skin.

  
‘‘I insist Cas, give you a chance to meet my baby anyway. You’ll love her.’’  
If after all this I have to make acquaintances with his girlfriend I will shrivel up and die.

 

‘Baby’, it transpired, was not his girlfriend. She was in fact his car. A pretty car but nevertheless incapable of romantic interaction. When we are seated inside, Dean skirts a fond palm over the dashboard and I raise an eyebrow.

  
‘‘Do you two need a moment?’’  
He snorts but doesn’t miss a beat on introductions.

  
‘‘Cas meet Baby. Baby this is Cas. He fucked up his foot and so we’re giving him a lift home,’’ he leans low over the wheel suddenly, pressing his ear against it.

  
“What was that Baby? Uh huh... yeah.” Sitting back up he glances at me like he’s waiting for something.

  
“Dean, if you think I am going to ask you what your car just said about me, you are sorely mistaken.” His lips have turned up at the corners but he is resolutely making no moves to start the car. Even going as far as to drum his fingers against his thigh and glance around nonchalantly.

  
“You are incorrigible.” I roll my eyes but can feel my resolve buckling.

  
‘‘Fine, what did your... Baby have to say about me?’’  
Instantly a grin splits his face.

  
‘‘She said your ass feels nice.’’ And he’s pulling out of the space we’re parked in, spinning suddenly onto the road. I’m too nonplussed to even comment.

Dean can sing. Low honey tones like he’s not even trying. He croons to Baby and runs his nails into the stitching along the edge of the steering wheel, affection leaching out. Every time the chorus of the song circles again, I feel like I recognise it but then lose it when each verse starts, the title pulling somewhere at the base of my skull. To add to his apparent myriad of skills, Dean is also an excellent driver. Everything is smooth and forethought like the car is an extension of him. As if each rumble of the engine is his own breath.

  
He’s calm in the quiet of the car.  
So focused that I can watch him subtly like I couldn’t when he was rounding up a conversation.  
Black denim is stretched tight across his thighs as one splays open. It jigs as he bounced on his toes.  
Falling through the glass, the sun settles on the cleft of his chin and highlights the close shaven stubble I hadn’t noticed, framing his lips.  
He’s beautiful but not just in that male model way- in the way that I wish I could draw, just so I could learn the planes of his face and attempt to replicate it on paper.  
He catches me staring so I pretend that I’ve been watching his hands on the wheel.

  
“You learning to drive Cas?”  
I nod.

  
“I was going to learn last year but honestly I enjoy walking so much I didn’t think I’d use a car enough.”  
It’s true enough, I hadn’t technically booked any lessons but I did intend to learn while I was still at school.  
He hums quietly in agreement and I realise I like how he seems equally comfortable engaging in conversation as he does sat in warm silence.

  
‘‘My Dad taught me when I was 13, it made sense because Sammy has all these after school clubs and it was just easier if it was me going to get him.’’

  
‘‘What if you’d gotten pulled over, surely they’d recognise that you were underage.’’  
He smirks wide at that and looks over at me.

  
‘‘Cas, have you met me? What makes you think I wouldn’t be able to bullshit my way out of any situation?’’  
I roll my eyes but can see the experience in how he drives.

  
‘‘Anyway,’’ he continues. ‘‘I was pretty tall for my age- not as tall as Sammy is now, mind you.’’  
I highly doubt he would have passed with the boyish grin and soft edges to his jaw. Even now at seventeen, it’s only the stubble and broad shoulders that gives you an indication of his age, but I don’t say anything.  
The lapse into silence is easy and painless, creased only when I have to start giving directions to my house. When we pull up in my drive, I smile and thank this relative stranger who invited me into his car. He just chuckles and slaps a hand to my bicep, telling me he’ll see me at school. As the car backs away, I momentarily wonder if he’ll recognise me when we return on Monday or if I’ll just fade to another empty face lining the halls.


	2. Chapter 2

When the fist came flying towards me, I winced, but didn’t _actually_ expect it to collide with my face. I half thought it would sail straight past and smash against the lockers or that it would stop frozen, an inch from my skin.

 

The shock of it meeting its target was enough to send me tumbling back into the lockers. Eyes screwed tightly shut, hands hovering defensively in front of my face.

Ringing reverberated around my skull and all I was aware of was a deep pressure down the left side of my face as I tried to pull myself up.

 

Slow and groggy. People were shouting but it was hard to distinguish their voices from my own crowded thoughts. So many hands were touching me and my face was numb.

 

A sharp, overwhelmingly authoritative voice cuts through the adolescent murmur and the feet scatter.

 

Then comes the pain.

And it’s not like the clean sting of a cut; it’s a slow throbbing nausea that’s grinding it’s knuckles against and under my bones, somehow wriggled around to tug under my eye socket. I must groan because suddenly there’s a concerned female voice way too close.

 

Opening my eyes, I pull away from what appears to be the school receptionist, she has thick glasses that magnify her eyes to comic proportions and is looming in.

 

“Are you alright? What’s your name, Dear?”

A quick glance around reveals my assailant has hastened away at the arrival of authority.

A half-healed sprained ankle and a potential black eye, _marvellous_.

 

“Can you hear me, Dear? Gosh do you think you might have a concussion?”

I manage to pull myself together enough to assure her I am concussion free and make to leave when spindly fingers snap around my wrist.

 

“You aren’t going anywhere. You think the school tolerates fighting in the corridors.”

Which I thought was entirely unjust considering I had not been a willing participant in my assault. I tell her as much and she releases my wrist only to pin me with her eyes.

 

“If another student has attacked you, don’t you think you should alert a member of the pastoral team?” She raises her eyebrows, which ices me further to the spot.

 

“I’d rather not make a fuss, I was... provoking him”

Regarding me carefully, the ring of the bell momentarily distracts her and I hobble around the corner.

Stopping by the nurse’s office to pick up an ice pack, feigning ankle pain. I see a flash of recognition in her eyes and recall my last stop here. With Dean. He had been skipping about my thoughts all week, no matter how hard I tried to trip him up.

 

“Your ankle a little sore, Hun? Looked like a nasty sprain when I saw it Friday.”

I press the ice pack against my foot, which is pleasant but less so when I’m so aware of the throbbing in my face. I wonder if she’ll let me leave with it so I can put it where it’s actually needed.

 

“It was only mild so I thought I’d try without the crutches today.”

 

She smiles kindly.

 

“If it’s hurting you, you might want to lay off it, I can let your teacher know you won’t be attending your lesson if you’d need a break.”

I nod gratefully and the accompanying wince that ratchets through my skull seems to convince her.

‘“Mr Kennedy has been emailed, now I’m supposed to finish at 1:00 today,” we both glance at the clock reading 1:06. “But I can stay if you n-“

 

“No no no,”I interrupt “you go, I have homework I could be doing whilst I’m resting my ankle.”

Positively beaming at my academic expense, she collects her bag and wishes my ankle better. Dean was right, she is a babe.

 

Ice pack now applied to swelling on my face and no class to be in for the next hour, I feel kind of lost. Pulling out the little homework i have, I read the same question several times, convincing myself that each time the words will adhere better. Eventually I find myself doodling a particular pair of lips on the corner of the page but I can’t get the Cupid’s bow right so I scribble it out irritably. I imagine what his frame would feel like through his t-shirt and if he has freckles pinpricking his collarbone. How his jeans would get tight when his mind drifts to iniquity and whether he’d bite his lower lip when he came.

 

Then I feel dirty and bad so I attempt another question.

And then I feel bad for feeling dirty because I remind myself it isn’t.

It’s normal, or so the sex ed lessons say. At my previous school, any informative lessons on how to safely copulate had beenheterosexual and brief, with a larger emphasis on abstinence. Here there had been a drive for covering gay safe sex in class and although I’d mostly flushed my way through the hour, convinced everyone knew and was watching me, it had been helpful.

Still, getting a chubby midway through school was not ideal.

 

 

A few weeks prior I’d wrangled myself an interview for a local pet shop and with my slowly healing foot, it would likely take twice as long to get myself there. Mentally I skim some generic questions. The owner had seemed something of a maverick so I’d probably get thrown a curve ball.

 

20 minutes before the bell would sound for the end of school, I begin my trek to the pet shop. It had seemed pretty well kept as pet shops go, the small collection of miscellaneous rodents for sale had had clean bedding and all looked bright eyed and bushy tailed, literally. Apparently the owner bred them all herself, or so she’d told me as I’d been swept around the store when I’d first asked for a job.

 

I lift my phone subtly to use as a mirror and examine my eye. The ice had mostly curbed the swelling but it was still a tender pink, yet to turn blue. I contemplate whether I can say I acquired it when I twisted my ankle. If she notices she doesn’t comment on it as she fires off seemingly random questions that I obviously give adequate answers to as she throws me a wry smile and says I can start tomorrow after school. The proud glow is swiftly banished when, upon leaving the interview room, I collide with a warm and now somewhat familiar body.

 

“I wondered who the new kid was gunna be, think you can manage it without hurtling down the stairs this time.” Dean grins at me, twinkling eyes. “How is that ankle, looked pretty fucking sore Friday?”

I stare for a second too long before twisting my foot so he can see it better because that’s what he’s expecting me to do.

 

“Yes, it’s much better now, I used crutches over the weekend but I’m supposed to start walking normally today.”

When I look back up at him, he’s watching me with a funny expression and his eyes are closed off, like fogged glass.

Snagging my chin with his fingers he jerks the left side of my face into the light. I half try and wriggle from his grip and half go pliant.

 

“What happened to your face, Cas?”

The voice is detached and distinctly ‘un-deanlike’.

It’s only when I’ve started to explain I hit it when I twisted my ankle that I recall he was there and won’t go for it. _Damn_.

 

“Did someone hurt you?”

I finally recognise that it’s anger welded into his words. Twisting red fists into each syllable.

 

“There was a fight at school.”

Which technically there was but I still find myself unable to meet his eyes, so I look down at my foot, seeing how far I can bend it before it hurts.

 

“A fight?” Disbelief.

 

“A one-way fight.”

 

“That doesn’t count as a fight, Cas. That’s one douchebag beating another kid up.”

 

“That other kid might have deserved it.”

 

“Well what the fuck did the other kid think he was doing to put himself in harms way like that?”

 

“He may have made some um... comments that the ‘douchebag’ as you put it, was displeased with.”

 

“Cut the bullshit Cas, what did you say?”

 

Pulling my face from his grip, I can still feel his finger prints burnt into me. It’s hard to look at him when he’s like this; righteous and burning. Still beautiful but a sharp beauty that bites and howls.

 

“Why does it matter, Dean?”

 

That stumps him, not entirely but it’s unexpected enough that the anger is broken for a moment. Enough to remind him that we are practically strangers. 

 

“I don’t want- you’d tell me if someone was picking on you right. I’d sort them out for you.”

 

“I appreciate it Dean but I can protect myself.”

 

“Evidently.” He chuckles darkly but it’s warmer and a soft crinkle forms around his eyes.

He’s wearing the red uniform polo shirt and half the collar is tucked distractingly into his neck.

A shout from within the interview room I’d just emerged from, rings out. She wants Dean.

 

“Guess I’ll see you round, Cas.”

He’s smirking but he glances at my bad eye again. Fingers skating my chest as he moves around me, so soft it must be accidental.

I turn to watch him go, watch him push open the door with his foot and slip inside, flashing me a goodbye half smile before the door closes between us. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, there’s some slight non-con here. Not between Dean and Cas and not detailed. Oh also I made Hael a dude :)

 

 

He isn’t working the next day or the day after but I’m embarrassed to ask anyone about his hours.Anna catches me moping and so begins her relentless persuading of getting me to accompany her to a party that weekend. Something I’m generally inclined to avoid.

All the kids that joined when Elysian high had closed stuck together in their established cliques and there was little integration between internals and externals. Typically, Anna had manage to worm her way into a few key social circles.

The party she was trying to coerce me into attending would have very few ex Elysian students and although I had become acquainted with my new peers, I wasn’t close with them.

 To be fair to her, she made a very convincing point of why I should come and slaughtered all my arguments against.

 “We’ll get ready together, pre drink together and turn up together. It’ll be fine, I won’t leave you.” Her eyes could be enormously doe-like and persuading when she wanted them to be.

I make an enormous point of huffing and rolling my eyes but agree.

 

 Apparently it takes over an hour to decide on the correct amount of cleavage to have on display. I felt I was rather hopeless in aiding her decision but she bounced ideas off my presence regardless.

Initially I refused the glass of wine she’d stuffed under my nose, but nerves were spiking in my gut.Perhaps turning up inebriated would be the key here.

The freedom to choose my own outfit was swiftly revoked when Anna caught sight of me.

Perhaps I didn’t have enough cleavage on show.

She eventually drags me down to conceal the last green smudges of my bruising, taking the opportunity to chastise me- again.

 

Walking to the party our voices cut through the silence, seeming to reverberate off the trees lining the sidewalk. If I looked up and shielded my eyes from the street lamps, the stars were clear and bright.

We play a brief game of making upnew constellations before I walk into a lamp post. Anna has to put her bottle down as she wipes away tears.

I make a brief complaint about the tightness of my pants but am shut up with a ass slap.

“Beauty hurts, Cas.”

Anna herself was wearing a tight green dress with apparently the perfect amount of cleavage. It was pretty and showcased her long legs.

Glitter had been packed onto both our faces for no reason other than that it ‘looked hot.’ It was tight on my cheekbones when I smiled. Itching slightly.

 

Lulled in by the heady music escaping out onto the street, Anna steers me across the road. I recognised faces lingering in the doorway and pushing past us onto the street. The scent of cheap wine had somehow managed to blend with the scent of vomit, making for an unpleasant aroma on the front mat. Anna makes a face and pretends to gag as we pass it.

Most of the downstairs seemed to be open to guests. People spill from the rooms and I watch at least seven drinks being knocked over.

 “Do you think we’re at the right place.” I smirk, and she swats my shoulder. Between us we’d finished a bottle of wine on the way here and I felt an unnecessary giggle tug at my throat. Nerves perhaps.

“We should get a drink.” She decides for the both of us and takes my hand to lead me through the torrent of people. Sweaty bodies slide against me and I accidentally bump a couple making out voraciously against the door frame.

Its quieter in the kitchen, just a kid vomiting in the sink and a couple of people stood around patting his back. Spotting the cheap vodka in my hand, the two girls sidle over, leaving the boy groaning over the sink.

“Damn Anna, this is probably the nicest drink in this whole place, we’ve been stuck on shitty ciders for the last hour.”

I vaguely recognise the blonde girl but couldn’t name her or place how I know her. The smirking redhead remains a mystery.

 “Well Sparkles, we gunna do shots or not.”

This is the redhead and something about her smile sparks deviously. She has a slight overbite and her eyes twinkle.

“Charlie.” She says by way of introduction.

“This is Castiel, he came from Elysian as well. Cas this is Charlie and Jo.”

Jo, the name flits into place beneath the pretty oval face, same Maths class.

“You find glasses and I’ll-“

“Who needs glasses?” Says Jo and promptly grabs a metal egg cup from the side and fills it with vodka until it’s spilling down the sides. Her hair ripples down her spine as she throws the shot back, coming up with a twisted face and hissed breath.

“Damn that’s good, we’re getting fucked tonight.”

I find myself laughing at the complete lunacy of it as we each drink from the egg cup. Under my fingers the metal is cold and wet and I can almost pretend it water before the smell hits.

 

An hour later and the vodka gone, I feel hot and sloppy and have laughed more than in the last month. I’ve never met anyone as funny as Charlie and Jo,their instant inclusion of me not going unnoticed.

I learn that chunder boy is called Ash and his rhetoric is that it ain’t a party until you’ve vomited. They leave him on a vacant couch to sleep it off.

Charlie engages me in a game of scoring our peers dancing ability out of 10. Considering they aren’t doing much more than grinding on each other, we have to be very generous. Although I do take issue with Charlie dolling out a 9 to a girl who is quite literally humping the air. She ardently denies any bias but I quickly learn she has been pursuing Gilda for some months.

All the girls are suddenly shrieking and I clutch at my ears dramatically, turning to Jo to ask if they’re bleeding. She smacks me firmly across the chest and tugs me up.

“Cas, there’s someone you gotta meet.”

Dean Winchester is suddenly stood immediately in front of me though I’m sure he wasn’t a moment earlier.

I find myself swaying and use his arm to steady myself.

“Hey Cas, having a good time?” He’s smiling softly like I’m amusing. The low lighting an exceptionally good look on him.

I grin dumbly up as though I had actually made a suitable reply, and give him a little wave.

“How the hell do you know everybody? Cas is my new friend, you can’t have him.” Charlie has now risen and latched a tenacious claw around my arm.

“Fuck off, I had him first.” Dean yanks me away from Charlie and wraps both arms protectively around me. I could melt into him.

“Whatever he ain’t my type.” She falls back to the couch.

I wriggle around in Dean’s arms to shoot her my best offended look.

“Don’t take it personally Cas, she don’t like dudes.”

I feel Dean’s laugh fill his chest and tumble into mine. He’s like that, somehow manages to flood everything around him.

“Having a good time Buddy?” He’s lowered his head and his breath is warm against my ear.

“Better now.” I push the words into his skin and wonder if they’ll pass his heart on the way up.

He chuckles and I know he can feel my cheeks draw up in a smile.

“Well I’m going to borrow Cas, if you ladies will excuse us.” Dean salutes them and leaves one arm around my shoulder, holding me to his side as we leave the room.

“Bring him back in one piece!” Anna calls and I pretend I don’t see her wink.

 

We end up in a wide dining room which stinks of weed when you walk in but it quiet and the lights are on.

There’s people down the other end but no one watches as we lean against the opposite wall. 

A contented smirk seems to have taken up a permanent residence on Dean’s face and I’m aware this is the first time all night he hasn’t had to shout over the music to be heard.

I also become aware of the slight slur beginning in my speech.

Dean thinks it funny when I can’t think of the word I want to use and my consonants blur together.

“I’m going to be boring and cut you off now bud.”he says, carefully untangling the beer I’ve been nursing intermittently. I do make some sort of argument but it can’t be persuading because we are both laughing and I’m tipping forward.

“As an aside, my balance is normally impeccable.”

“I was not judging your balance, Cas.” But his hand goes to my shoulder to steady me.

He’s been twisting his fingers in his hair and it’s mused at the front.

I suddenly think that it would be a very doable thing to kiss him. It could totally just happen. I’d just rock up on my toes.

 

“Winchester.” A too loud male voice startles me and I shy away from Dean.

“It’s Benny, he’s half passed out. Chucking up everywhere.”

“Fuck, uh Cas you stay here, I’ll be back in like 5 minutes. I just need to sort Benny.”

Dean disappears to help his friend but if I close my eyes I can pretend he’s still here. I go sit on the couch at the far side of the room. The guy I sit next to offers me a spliff but I decline. Now I’m seated nausea has commandeered my skull.

“Hey, Castiel right?”

My eyes meet with a vaguely familiar pair of blue ones. He grins and I realise where I recognise him from.

“You were at Elysian as well.” I’d seen him around in the hallways.

“Yeah. Hael, we met at a party once.”

I don’t recall making acquaintances with him but nod anyway. Laying my head back doesn’t do much, I still feel like shit.

A hand settles on my thigh.

“You look kinda ill.”

“Yeah, I’ve felt better.” I want to go to sleep and stand up at the same time bizarrely.

“Come on, we’ll get you a glass of water.”

He slides an unexpected arm around my waist and pulls me up.

I expected us to go to the kitchen but instead he steers me to an upstairs bathroom. I’m not sure if we’re allowed upstairs but it’s definitely quieter. I find, even being mostly dragged, that it’s hard to keep my feet under me and I trip up the stairs.

Finally seated on the toilet seat, I can’t tell if he’s actually that close or the alcohol is just throwing out my proportions.

“Your eyes are very blue.” I say because it’s about all I can see right now. He chuckles.

“I could say the same about you.”

My stomach clenches suddenly and even though I don’t think I’ll be sick, I gesture wildly for him to move.

Spinning me dizzyingly fast, or maybe I’m just spinning, he leans me over the sink and holds me there with one hand in my hair. I gag and spit but nothing emerges.

It slowly comes to my attention that he’s leant along the length of my back.

I shift uncomfortably but he pushes a little harder against me, enough that the cold porcelain bites into my hip.

“Uh I think I’m good now.” I say and nudge back slightly.

A delayed concern starts to thread through me, not enough that I panic but enough that I’m on edge.

The fingers twisted in my hair push my head down until my face is pressed against the cool lip of the sink. It would probably be pleasant in another scenario.

“Hael?”

I can feel his breath on my neck and I’m nauseous again.

“Yes.” It’s so nonchalant, like he isn’t pinning me to a sink.

Cold lips pressed behind my ear make me jerk but he’s leaning his whole weight on me now.

“Get off me, Hael.” It doesn’t come out as forceful as I intend. I sound like a child.

“Shut up Cas.” He presses his face into the side of my neck and adjusts himself along my back. I am going to be sick.

Scrambling against the sink, I try to find purchase on the porcelain but he just holds my wrists.

He spreads my legs with his knees.

There’s a dreamlike quality to the seep of music below, the cold against my hip, the heat at my back, the huffs in my ear. I should be struggling but I don’t know how to move.

His hand shifts and I wrench my elbow back. Pain shudders up my arm.

I twist and shove him off. Stumbling into the towel rail. We stare at each other and his face doesn’t look real.

 

The door bursts open and Hael is gone through it. Dean stands in the doorway. Thoroughly bewildered.

Abruptly and overwhelmingly I know I’m going to vomit.

I’ve barely shoving my face over the toilet when my stomach heaves and I’m clenching, white knuckled, at the sides.

Dean is murmuring soothing inanities and rubbing circles into my spine and he is so entirely and utterly different to Hael.

I wipe my mouth and sip water, focused on not spilling it. My hands are trembling.

Dean is trying to figure out what happened, if he hurt me, but I can’t see straight. I’m trying to explain that he didn’t hurt me, as such.

“Did he do something to you?”

Dean’s eyes are fervent and angry with that righteous fire again.

“He didn’t do... anything exactly. He just kind of-“

My head is crashing and rolling waves, breaking in my throat. Dean is quiet, waiting for me. I appreciate that

“I guess he just- tried to rub one out on me.”

“What?” Whatever he was expecting it wasn’t that, confusion snags his features before the anger surges back.

 

Vomiting earlier had definitely helped, the nausea was slowly ebbing away leaving me dizzy and enervated. A warm palm settles against my forehead and the spinning momentarily pauses.

I think Dean tells me he’s going to take me home and helps me stand.

Something imperative I must tell him snags my attention and it takes me halfway back down the stairs to recall it.

“Anna,” I slur into his shoulder. He doesn’t catch it first time and so I repeat it louder.

It becomes increasingly difficult to pick up my feet for every stumble I take and I think eventually broad arms sweep me off the floor.

  


 


	4. Chapter 4

Quiet movement in the room rouses me. Anna no doubt beginning her sizeable morning routine. The steps are careful as they move around the bed, obviously not meant to wake me.

 

As I shift beneath the duvet I became aware of a familiar comforting smell in the sheets that is as exceeding pleasant as it is unusual. Breathing in again I try to place it, but I’m still drifting too close to the boundary of slumber to really engage my brain.

 

The lazy headache and general feeling of uncleanliness that always ensues a night out drew me to consciousness and I groan as I roll onto my back. Dragging fingers up my bare chest and rubbing at my sore eyes I jolt at the deep chuckle and voice that follows.

 

“Morning sleeping beauty.”

That is most definitely not Anna.

I open my eyes and take in Dean, tying some dark sweatpants at the waist.

 

“You aren’t Anna.” I say intelligently.

His smile quirks and I briefly wonder if I’m still drunk.

 

“You got me there Hotshot,” he comes closer and holds out a palm to shake. “Name’s Dean, I feel like we’ve met before.”

 

I scowl good-naturedly at him and consider sticking out my tongue.

 

“Why aren’t I at Anna’s?”

 

“Well not long after you conked out, Mandy’s parents came back.”

 

“And they were... displeased?”

 

“They didn’t know that she was throwing a party at all so I’d say displeased covers it pretty damn well.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“Yeah so everyone got kicked out and I couldn’t find Anna and I sure as hell wasn’t just leaving you there so- I took you home. Like a lost puppy.”

 

He smiles but his eyes are hard and I know he’s thinking about Hael. 

Scratching at my stomach absently I glance down at my bare torso.

 

“Did you have to tear my shirt into strips to tie back my hair?” I say, deadpan.

Snorting loudly, he pulls a worn hoodie over his head.

 

“More like it was covered in your own vomit and I didn’t want that shit in my bed.”

He roots around in a wardrobe momentarily before throwing a bundle at me.

 

“Should fit, might smell a bit better too.”

His eyes glint and I didn’t know eyes could do that.

 

“I’ll uh- give you some space to change. Come down when you’re ready though.”

He throws the last words over his shoulder as he leaps down the stairs two at a time, jumping the last few by the sound of a thud.

 

A pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt sit in my lap, I topple over twice trying to remove the pants. 

Sifting through the pockets for my phone I find 4 missed calls from Anna. Feeling vaguely guilty about unintentionally ditching her, I send her a text saying I’m at Dean’s, she’ll go nuts over that.

 

Making my way to the stairs, I pass a dark bedroom and manage to collide roughly with a tall solid shape that grunts and swears.

 

“Dean what the fuck are y- oh umm hello, I’m Sam.” He smiles awkwardly and seems only mildly disconcerted at finding a stranger in his house.

 

“Hello Sam, I’m Castiel.”

Sam looks about 14 and has a flop of shiny dark hair across his brow and bright hazel eyes.

A loud bellow from downstairs knocks us from our staring match.

 

“Sam quit bothering Cas and tell him to get his ass down here.”

Sam rolls his eyes but smiles.

 

As I descend the stairs I run my fingers along the pink paint on the wall, it’s soft and feminine in an otherwise male household. Delicate.

 

At the table I’m offered a plate of scrambled eggs and I get the vague impression there isn’t much else but Dean’s happy and whistling. He’s as comfortable in the kitchen as he is in the car, bouncing about on his toes to grab pots and pans. Hoodie sleeves rolled up to his elbow, I’m afforded the pleasant view of tanned, lightly muscled forearms. Who knew forearms could be attractive?

 

Absently I wonder if Dean’s aware of how attractive I find him.

People must try it on with him all the time, the thought makes me frown and something swirls in my gut I might be inclined to call jealousy.

 

“Oh my god.”

 

Dean suddenly drops into the seat opposite and stares at my face. It had better not be dried drool or vomit.

 

“That damn glitter is still going strong.”

 

Leaning in close enough that I can count the creases in his lower lip and see them disappear as they are pulled taut in a grin, he swipes his thumb along my cheekbone. Pulling it back to examine, I see fine silver glitter winking back at me.

 

“I’ll be washing that out of my sheets for days won’t I.”

 

Something delicious curls up in my chest at the thought of him thinking of me every time he’s in bed.

 

“Anna used glue.”

 

He throws back his head and laughs and when it falls back into place it seems closer than before.

 

“Of course she did. Obviously effective.”

Touching his finger to my cheekbone once more, he gets back to his pottering.

 

An hour later he’s dropping me back at Anna’s, where I’d left all my things. He smiles gently as I get out the car and I think he’s going to say something but then he just throws his hand up in a salute and pulls away.

I don’t tell Anna about Hael and she seems disappointed nothing happened with Dean but she doesn’t comment and asks my opinion on the two boys she had kissed that night.

 

Four days pass before I see Dean again. We’re crossing in the hallway and he’s with a small group of friends, I don’t think he’ll notice me but he does. He smirks and moves across so he can bump my shoulder affectionately and then he’s gone- again. Disappearing around a corner.

 

The less I see of him, the more he invades my subconscious.

It’s exactly three weeks after I tumbled down those stairs that he first stars in a dream. It’s pretty mundane really, we’re sat around my kitchen table peeling apples to make pie. His fingers long and dexterous as they flick the skin into a shared bowl between us. It’s unexciting but I awaken oddly content with a warmth like a cat curled on my chest.

 

Apparently it isn’t enough because I dream of him again a week later.

This time we’re in his bedroom but there’s a nebulous haze to everything that isn’t us; him, a stark outline to the blur of the bed.

Dark eyes and pink lips walk me back until the wall is catching at my heel and he leans low- sharing a breath. He grazes our chins together and dips to nudge at the hollow of my throat. He’s looped a finger through my belt holes and is tugging me closer.

 

This Dean is feral and unknown. He pushes against my chest so I’m sandwiched between the warm line of his body and the wall. Fingers snag my chin and pull it up so he can catch my eye and lean in.

 

I wake suddenly and violently, my arms scrabbling for someone who isn’t there. The realisation I was dreaming is almost painful as loneliness surges into my chest.

A weary weight. I lay back quietly, the room silent but for the rush of my pulse.

 

An almost somber tranquility settles over me despite the persistent throb between my legs. I shift about uncomfortably for a minute before deciding to deal with it in the bathroom. It feels almost wrong to think of him like that, like I have any right to use him for myself as I am.

I come quickly and quietly into the toilet thinking decidedly about innominate men with any colour hair but blonde and any eyes but green.


	5. Chapter 5

At the pet shop, Dean works flexible hours so sometimes I won’t see him at all and other times we are together all day. I’m careful to keep my touches light and nonchalant like I haven’t even noticed where my hand has drifted. It scares me what he’d think if he knew. If he’d be angry. He has friends _like me_ , Charlie is pretty blatant about her disregard for men, maybe he wouldn’t mind.   
He’s pretty physical himself, claps me on the back or squeezes my shoulder like he doesn’t know what it does to me.   
Sometimes he’ll give me a lift to work after school and I’ll get to listen to him sing and laugh. When he does laugh he throws his whole body into it and his head tips back in delight.   
It’s a Saturday morning at the pet shop and I’ve arrived early so I can change before my shift starts. The red polos are uncomfortable and make you sweat, rubbing unforgivingly at the back of your neck.   
Ringing bells mark the door opening and footsteps track up the stairs. I know it’s Dean before I see him- he’s the only one who takes the stairs two at a time.   
I turn to greet him and feel the lazy grin and twinkling eyes before I see them.  
They aren’t there.  
His face is stone, marble chipped away between his brows to form a crease. Tight lips. Irate eyes.   
His gaze doesn’t meet mine as he passes briskly, his head forced straight.   
Mentally I skim our last encounter but decide it isn’t me that’s the cause of his upset. Then I feel my own flare of anger at whoever is.   
He ignores everyone throughout the day, shifting entire displays, anything to keep his hands busy.   
It’s 3:32 when the third middle aged woman approaches me to complain about the ‘very rude young man in the dog food section’, I apologise on behalf of the store and give her a discount on her purchase.   
It is undoubtedly Dean. Brooding is one thing but upsetting customers will lose him his job.   
He’s in the process of aggressively tearing down an old sign when I find him, swearing when it gets stuck.   
“Dean.”  
He quiets the blasphemy but doesn’t turn or still his movements.  
“Look at me, Dean.”

His shoulders slump suddenly and unexpectedly and when he meets my eyes I’m saddened.

“That lady complain to you?” He mumbles and it’s so hopeless I want to hold him to my chest.

“She did... amongst others.”

“I was a dick.”

“She said something like that.”

Nodding minutely, he twists his fingers together and it’s such an unusually nervous gesture that I sigh.

“My shift finishes soon, I’m going to tell them you feel ill and are going home. Wait for me in the car park.”

“Thanks Cas.”

I want to be annoyed at him for dismissing me this morning and jeopardising the job that I know he relies heavily on for support. A bigger part of me swells with understanding and the image of his tangled sweaty fingers knotting together is burnt into my mind.   
Leaving the building, I see his hunched figure leant against his car. Fragile and small.  
Our toes are almost touching when he notices me and his eyes slide up tiredly. Anger is truly exhausting and I see it now in Dean; see the silver embers burning at his core, slowly raking away his vim.   
I don’t trust him to drive very far but trust myself even less so I let him pull up outside my house, little more than five minutes away. The engine is quiet and the car is still but we stay sat in our respective seats staring ahead. Jerked exhales draw my eyes to him and I watch the sun swallow a tear tracking the length of his face. He doesn’t seem to notice it bleeding from him and it catches on his jaw. I envy it for coasting his skin, being allowed to touch.   
In a desperate attempt to comfort him I let my palm settle on his knee. This seems to mollify him and when the tear breaks away from his jaw to land on the damned ugly red polo, the residual anger leaves with it. Positioned just so his middle finger touches my pinky he places his hand just below mine.   
I don’t ask what’s wrong partly because I’m hoping my silence will goad him into telling and partly because I don’t know how.   
“You’re good Cas. Way too good.”

“You’re good too, Dean.”

He makes a non committal noise that chafes against me.

“Dean you are one of the best people I know. Bright, kind, joyous. Seeing you like this- it’s like watching the sun die.”

“You should be a poet.”

“I’m being honest Dean.”

“You always are, Cas.”

There’s this enormous pregnant silence and I can almost feel the air around me disappear as he pulls in a breath.

“It’s my Dad.”

The elusive Mr Winchester. I knew he and Sam lived with their father but I’d never seen him at the residence.

“He ain’t around much cuz’ his job takes him about and all but he was supposed to come back. Have a year off, even just 6 months... anyway he called and said it ‘wasn’t possible’ like what the fuck does that even mean.”

Disappointment weighs heavy in his words now but it’s better than sadness or anger I suppose.

“You know I had to teach Sam to shave last month because he wasn’t there. Stopped by for the weekend once in 3 months. I just- don’t get it. Why have kids if you’re just gonna fuck then over later. “

I squeeze his knee softly and run my thumb along the stitching.

“You deserve better, Dean.”

A robin is perched on the mottled tree of my front lawn. She hops about the branch, quirking her head to see us better.   
When I look back at Dean, he’s already watching me with quiet heedful eyes.

-

Following the party, Jo and I had struck up a camaraderie within our mathematics class. She would sit beside me and point out any thoughtless mistakes I’d made while I’d explain anything she didn’t understand. It worked well and made maths somewhat bearable.   
It was her who invited Anna and I to a ‘gathering’ she was holding at her house while her mum was away. I wanted to know if Dean would be attending but without being so hopelessly blatant, so I asked if anyone I knew would be coming.   
She gives me a slow smile but lists off several people I vaguely remember meeting, finishing- with a larger smile- on Dean’s name.   
Nodding nonchalantly I say I’ll think about it but an hour later I’m shamelessly begging Anna to come.

Jo’s house is nice, average sized but overwhelmingly homely. Stepping through the door I’m immediately at ease and don’t need the comforting hand Anna slips onto my shoulder. Lazy music lingers in the doorway like smoke, nothing like the pound of a party. Gentle laughter sounds from the living room, echoed in the kitchen with a clink of bottles. Anna leads the way to the living room and I watch her grin at our welcome cheer.   
Charlie saunters over and seizes my arm, dragging me to a spot beside her on the couch, complaining that Dean stole me last time.   
Star Wars is playing on the tv but everyone seems more interested in alcohol and cards, still it provides a quiet background buzz.   
Settling comfortably like it belongs there, a warm arm falls around my shoulders, squeezing softly.   
“Are you fucking joking, Dean. I haven’t even had him 5 minutes.”

I feel Dean’s chuckle against my side and look sideways at him. An easy smile splits his face but his eyes are nervous and I take it as a plea not to mention our last encounter.

“He’s all yours Char, I’m just saying hello.”

“Hello Dean.”

“Hey Cas.”

You wouldn’t know he’d let tears wet his cheeks two days prior; wouldn’t know the quiet desperate choke of his throat.   
He’s radiating sun again. A halo of golden warmth lighting his profile.   
Retracting the arm around my shoulder to pick up his drink, I find myself disappointed the gesture was only meant as a brief greeting and that he wouldn’t stay wrapped around me all night. Most of that feeling disappears as he settles back against me, a firm line up my side.   
More people gradually drift in until there must be 20 distributed between the rooms. Anna wanders off at some point with a tall Latino boy I don’t recognise but I stay wedged between Charlie and Dean.   
The more we drink, the heavier Dean leans against me and the louder his laugh becomes. Pleasant heat rumbles up my limbs when he claps his hand on my thigh to exaggerate a point and I know I would be content to watch him all night. He smiles at me suddenly, bright and honest like he hasn’t seen me in years and my chest concaves.   
How are you supposed to survive something like that?  
My head tumbles back against the sofa, eyeing a spider in the corner and trying to regain my breath.

“You okay Buddy, don’t want another vomiting episode.”

Huffing a laugh to reassure him, I notice Charlie has disappeared and most of the room’s occupants have drifted to the garden. Star Wars has finished, the credits rolling like monotonous waves.

“Do you want to go outside with them.”

“Nah I got something cooler.” He stands, tugging me up by my hand, our palms flush.   
I would let Dean lead me anywhere.

“Jo and I been kicking it together since we were like 5, I know this house better than I know my own.”

Tracking the stairs, I skim my fingers along the bannister, noting where the paint has been worn away. He pulls us into a small room, monopolised by a short wooden staircase.

“After you m’lady.” He gestures widely for me to ascend the stairs, chuckling when I smack his chest.   
The steps swear violently with each step, threatening to give way.   
An attic of sorts was the apparent destination, It’s mostly bare with a double mattress being the only indicator of use. Positioned directly below a skylight, it offers infinite stargazing opportunities.   
I stand below it, the darkness of the room highlighting every pinprick scattered across the night.

“This is incredible Dean.”

I vaguely recognise a few simple constellations but mostly it’s an enormous incomplete dot to dot. I prefer it that way though, prefer when the stars could make up any shape or creature were I to take out a brush and paint them on. It’s fitting really, like the universe will always be fragmentary and wanting.   
Weighing heavy in the sky, the moon is a low orb casting the shadows from our faces.   
The ache of springs below me indicates Dean has sat on the mattress and I join him, never drawing my eyes away.

“Do you come up here often?” Our arms aren’t touching but I feel the heat from his body leach across.

“When mum died, Dad was a state and uh- me and Sam lived here for a bit. Looking at the stars- I dunno, it feels like they have all the answers and if I spend enough time under them...”

Blurring the sharp lines of his faces, moonlight adds an ethereal effulgence to his skin. I’m so used to the glowing sunchild that seeing him like this, he looks devastatingly _raw_.

“Don’t you hate them though, the stars. They have all the secrets but give away nothing.” I say it but then I’m suddenly worried I’ve said something very wrong.

“No, I think they’d tell me if they could.”   
His voice is sure and trusting yet I can’t imagine trusting something so big and unknown.   
I tell him that, tell him I have very little faith in anything right now.

“That’s not on you, Cas. That’s on those who’ve let you down. It’ll come back. Without mum, and then Dad away with work always I had to find faith in something. It was little things at first, like Sam grinning at me every morning and seeing someone take a coffee out to this homeless guy. It just felt like for everyone who left you, someone else would try and find you again.”

“Maybe you should be the poet Dean.”

“Cas- did...” I turn to look at him and can see the words before him as he rearranges and rotates them.

“Hael didn’t kiss you right?”

Unexpected. We hadn’t really spoken of him since the party. He’d been suspended from the school a week later for coming to class stoned and, upon searching his locker, the school discovered he was dealing.

“Uh- no he didn’t.”

He lets out a sudden breath but I couldn’t say what emotion it was laced with.

“Okay that’s good, I just- what he did was sick you know. I don’t like the idea of him touching you or...”

The room tightens with tension. The walls crawl with it. I think the alcohol is catching up with me, filling me with heat and floating the mattress across a rolling sea.   
Dean is looking at me, his eyes focusing on each feature individually.

“Have you ever kissed a boy, Cas?”   
Whispering it like he’s afraid I’ll hear.   
I shake my head.   
Dean doesn’t look scared but I can actually see his pulse ticking in his throat.

“Can I try something, I just want to know-“

The air is solid, forcing me to take tiny half breaths so I don’t crack my ribs.   
Held up on his elbows he shuffles closer so our thighs brush and he leans on one side so he’s almost hovered over me.   
Directly behind his head, the moon turns the periphery of his hair silver, a halo.   
Leaning down, there’s about three inches between us and his eyes flick from my right to my left and then look at my mouth. It’s open because I can’t pull enough air through my nose.   
It occurs to me that’s he’s paused so I could pull away but I don’t think I could do that even if I wanted to.   
He’s moving closer so very slowly. I don’t know when I should close my eyes because he’s getting blurry but I don’t want to miss the streak of brown through his left iris or the crisscross of his lashes.   
Our lips a feather away he stops. Our breath is one, hot and inert. And then I shift forward and we touch.  
All I can think is that his lips are so giving. They melt as I press against them and we share a shaky breath. Something hot and primal inside me wants to grab him and hold him tight but I don’t.   
He shifts his jaw tentatively so they move against each other again and I make a little desperate noise in my throat.   
Sudden thud and laughter below us rips Dean from me. He’s across the other side of the mattress in the time it takes me to pull a breath.  
My heart races with something confusingly like guilt.   
Below us, Jo is loudly persuading Charlie to accompany her to the toilet and eventually their voices muffle behind a close door. It’s quiet again.   
Dean’s cheeks are suffused with colour and his eyes dark. His mouth is open as he sucks in little pants.  
Sitting up, I want to say something. Something to save us.   
He stands and I pretend I don’t see the wobble to his knees or the slight adjustment he makes to his jeans.   
Halfway to the stairs, he turns to me and says in a half whisper.

“Thank you Cas.”

And then I’m alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean lives in my dreams now. Broken into his component parts; always fractured and untouchable.

The knotted fingers, crumpled silhouette, warm breath.

Even when I can’t see him in my dreams I feel his presence, warm crowding the edges.

It hurts- something so close to pain and yet demanding another name. My brother has started giving me the bigger bowl of cereal in the morning and Anna watches me with big sad eyes.

It hurts.

None of our shifts at work have collided this week so the most I’ve seen of him has been a head of hair disappearing around a corner or his voice drifting down the stairs. I know he isn’t avoiding me- we just keep missing each other.

It hurts.

Jo looks at me funny in math, enough that I think maybe he told her. But she just turns my collar the right way and picks up her pen.

I want to hate him and then I remember the way he paused right before and the stars fell out the sky.

 

Sitting on the wall outside the pet shop I wish I had a cigarette, something to distract my hands. He didn’t turn up to his shift, so it’s definite. He’s avoiding me. It was a mistake. Regret.

My heels drum against the stone and if I was braver I’d kick it. A cool breeze runs its hands over my exposed forearms but I don’t want to pull my sleeves down yet.

Feet trip over themselves to my right but I don’t want a conversationor an ‘Are you okay?’ so I keep my head down. The sun has mostly set and the car park is grey and empty, intersecting white lines like a skeleton. I see a hand settle on the wall beside me.

“Cas-“

He looks god awful, but it’s him, it’s Dean. And he’s drunk. I smell it on him, hear it in the slur of my name and see the way he’s using the wall as a crutch to mask the sway of his knees.

“Jesus Christ, Dean.”

He staggers a step closer and I twist on the wall so I’m facing the side he’s on.

“I jus wan’ed you t’know-“ he looks so desperate to speak but his lips drag and catch the words wrong.

I jump down as his knees give way and then he’s in my arms, hot stagnant breath against my throat.

“Dean, please tell me you didn’t drive here.”

He huffs and his lips touch my skin.

“Like I’d d’that ta Baby.”

Shifting his weight, I manage to pull his arm over my shoulder so I can walk with him mostly supported.

 

“How far is it to your house Dean?”

 

“Twen’y min drive.”

 

“We don’t have a car, Dean.”

 

He mumbles something like darn and sags against me further. Propping him against the wall momentarily I pull out my phone and desperately hope he picks up.

 

“Whatup Cas?”

 

“Gabe, I need your help.”

 

It’s another ten minutes before the crappy blue Volvo pulls up and Gabe gets out. Dean had vomited twice in the time it took him to arrive but I managed to make sure he didn’t get any over himself and it’s sobered him up a bit. Gabe surveys the putrid puddle of retch and the sweat dotting Dean’s brow. Dean watches back glassily and I think if he had the energy he’d wave.

 

“Christ, Cas. He is fucked.”

 

“Can we take him home?” I say as I root through his backseat for a bottle of water.

 

“Nah, not home.” It’s quiet and rough but it’s the clearest Dean has sounded.

 

“What’d he say?” Gabe crouches closer to Dean and rests a palm against his forehead. Dean mumbles something else to him.

 

“He said something about a Sammy not seeing.”

 

“His brother. He won’t want him to see him like this- he’ll stay at ours.” I say decisively.

 

“You sure that’s a good idea, Cassy? Mum will freak if he sees the kid like this.”

 

I ponder this as I tilt Dean’s head back and feed him little sips of water, letting him swish one around around his mouth and spit out the taste of vomit.

 

“I’ll stay with him in the treehouse, you tell her I’m at Anna’s.”

It had come with the house, an enormous structurally sound wooden treehouse at the end of the garden. Equipped with a mattress, desk and fairy lights lining the single window, we’d all often joked someone could be living in it for months and we’d never know.

 

“Fine but take a bucket up there in case Bucko here chucks up again in the night.”

 

Together we heave Dean into the backseat, who has actually sobered up enough to pull his feet in after him and fumble the seat belt around him even if I have to lean across to click it into place. He smiles softly at me and leans forward to bump his head against my shoulder.

Driving us back, Gabe’s eyes flash warily to Dean behind in case he starts retching, but he just leans his forehead against the cool glass and closes his eyes.

Gabriel turns off the engine outside the house and tells us to stay whilst he checks the inside is clear, through the window I see him make several wild hand gestures that he undoubtedly snagged from a spy movie. Rolling my eyes I help Dean out and lead him around the house to the back. Only once we are at the foot of the ladder does it occur to me that Dean is probably still intoxicated and the ladder isn’t small. One hand on the rungs and a self sufficient smirk on his face, Dean insists he can do it himself, I would believe him had he not tripped over a watering can less than two minutes ago.

As he climbs I follow close behind, his back nearly against my chest so if he falls, it will be against me. Probably preferable to the stone patio below.

Hands on the underside of his thighs, being very careful not to let them slip up to his ass, I shove him through the trap door. I pull myself up just in time to see him collapse against the mattress with a huff.

-

He’s sat up when I return. Staring out the lone window into the shapeless night. I sit beside him and pass him the clean t-shirt I smuggled from Gabe’s room and look away as he pulls off his soiled one without a thought. He’s smells better now, like sweat and cotton.

“Thank you Cas.”

Again, like I’ve given him the greatest gift.

Basking in the night, I feel like everything is an echo, that we’ll skim each other and miss again. Then he stands with only a slight wobble and pulls down the blinds so the night is locked out and nothing is the same.

It hangs heavy between us and I decide it’s only the remnants of alcohol in his system that stops him bolting.

We sit side by side in solemn silence, shifting uncomfortably.

“I’m tired.”

He announces suddenly and I thrum with the chance to do something, to dissipate the tension. The thin duvet I dragged up with me sits beside the desk and I drape it across us. Socked toes press against his calf but I think it’ll be more obvious if I move them so I concentrate on keeping them still.

Skulls balanced either side of the shared pillow, I endeavour to keep my breaths quiet and to appear relaxed. He shifts his hands and I tense but we don’t touch. I wonder if we ever will or this is the closest we’ll get.

It would be enough.

 

“Do you feel better now?”

 

I feel the shift of the pillow as he nods and realise our shoulders are touching.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

His voice is tired but clear. It sits heavy on the silence of the night.

 

“When did you know- that you were like- gay?”

 

Half thinking I’ve misheard, something like a bubble of hysteria sticks in my throat. _Gay_. Curling my hands into fists I realise they are trembling. He knows, if he knows then everyone must. Each breath hurts and fear has shoved its fingers into my gut.

 

“It’s okay Cas, it’s not a big deal or anything. I just wondered if you’d always kinda thought it or was it really sudden.”

 

It’s feels real and palpable, like a brand that’s settled against my forehead. Like letters tagged after my name for all to see- Castiel Novak- a homosexual. When someone says it aloud, it feels so different to holding it in your head. It feels like a head collar has been fitted to me and I’m trapped.

 

“Hey hey, Cas, it’s fine. You’re okay. I don’t mind if that’s what you’re worried about. I won’t tell anyone.”

 

Palms clasped to either side of my face, he turns it towards him so all I see is Dean. He isn’t lying. His eyes are exhausted, but kind and open and he’s smiling gently.

 

“How did y-“ I want to ask how he knows but that would be admitting to it, agreeing that yes, that is me. I’m gay.

 

“How did I know? Well you’re best friends with Anna and she’s pretty hot but you don’t see her like that. Or Jo, any girl really. You’re friends with them but you never check them out. And...sometimes when we’re together you-“

 

I make a pained noise and curl into myself, turns away from him. He knows I like him.

With my back to him, I’m free to screw up my red face and hug my knees to my chest, anything under the suffocating weight of my embarrassment. A soothing hum accompanied a palm that rubs gently at my waist. I want it so bad.

 

“Don’t touch me. I’m not some injured dog.” I mumble it into my hands and wait for him to sigh and leave. But he doesn’t, he stays because he’s Dean and I can’t write his story for him.

 

“I know you’re not an injured dog, Cas. You’re you. The same you that fell down those goddamn steps and then looked at me like I was some kinda angel there to rescue you. I knew because you don’t look at me like you look at girls. You look at me like I’m...”

 

I curl up tighter but his hand stays firm, thumb rubbing mollifying circles.

 

“Don’t tell anyone, Dean.”

 

“I wouldn’t.” He says it as he pulls me to his chest and tucks his nose against the back of my collar. Circled around me protectively he makes me feel like I have wings.


	7. Chapter 7

Something nags at the edges like peeling wallpaper, telling me it isn’t real. But it feels real. It feels just like I’m there.

The cold sink pushing up under me, my hands twisted above my head, just high enough to smart. The rough raw pants in my ear.

I can feel him along my back, feel the solid shape of his hard on as he shoves himself between my legs.

Nausea rises through me.

I know something is different, that something isn’t quite how it was but my racing heart is flooding my body; drowning sense.

As I rush back to consciousness all at once and the body stays wrapped around me, I freak. Thrashing and twisting, I try to shake the arms from me. Send Hael back to surreality.

 

“Hey hey, you’re okay.” Someone croons into my ear and the voice is sleep worn and soft.

Loosening their hold but not shifting position, the arms feel less like a cage and more like a comfort.

Sense flickers back to me and I recognise the now familiar scent- _Dean_. Against me, his position mirrors that of Hael but his touch is tender and I know he’d release me the instant I asked. Warmth spills in my gut when I shift and feel his morning wood nestled tight against my ass. Unfortunately he alsonotices and huffs a nervous apology, pulling his hips back so we don’t touch below the waist. _Damn_.

 

“Bad dream?” He sounds so wrecked, his voice granulated with sleep. I like it, it hums under my skin pleasantly.

I mumble an agreement.

 

“Wanna talk about it?” Light is just beginning to strain against the blinds; nudging around the edges and I’d guess it’s still early.

 

“It was Hael.”

 

The way he tenses is subtle, like he doesn’t want me to notice. Perhaps forgetting that we are intertwined and I can feel his every heart beat.

 

“Cas I’m so sor-“

 

“No Dean, please don’t. You don’t get to heave the blame from his shoulders. I want him to stand alone in my mind.”

 

“But I-“

 

“Was looking after a friend. You can’t save everyone. I shouldn’t have gone upstairs with him but I did. It’s happened and honestly I don’t want to think about it. It could have been much worse but it wasn’t.”

 

He’s quiet after that, thoughtful. I hope he isn’t blaming himself because he shouldn’t.

He’s subconsciously drawn himself closer again and I resist pushing myself back against him.

 

“That night you asked if I’d ever kissed a boy before, but you never told me if you had.”

 

Tense again, but a different kind, it’s almost defensive like he thinks I’ll mock him.

 

“I... I hadn’t. You were the first.” I smile when he says it, I like having a claim to something of his.

 

“Did I disappoint?” I ask with a lazy grin I know he can’t see but can hear in the curl of my words.

Laughing loudly and Dean-like:

 

“No, not at all. It was- different but good.”

 

“It was good,” I agree. “Shame it got interrupted.”

 

Warm exhale against the back of my neck and I can feel the emotion, it’s almost tangible- shame.

 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were looking for round two.” I try to read between his words, pick out his meaning, is it an uncomfortable joke, a genuine offer?

I hum in neither agreement or disagreement.

There’s a rustle of hair as it lifts from the pillow and then I feel hot breath on the side of my neck, just below my ear, followed by a tender press of lips that linger.

 

“Go back to sleep, Cas.” He whispers right against my ear so there’s no chance it can slip away.

He’s close enough to hear my breath catch.

Perhaps if I weren’t myself, I would twist my head to chase those lips and breathe “again.” Into them.

As I am myself I let his head touch the pillow again and settle myself with his fingers tightening at my waist and his foot slotting between my ankles.

 

-

I don’t even remember falling asleep but I must have because I’m blinking away sunlight and blearily searching for Dean who’s no longer wrapped around me. Recognising my worry, he pats my stomach and smiles down with pillow creases pressed into his cheek. He’s sat up on the mattress with one bare foot still touching mine. Hair thrown up on one side like a frozen wave.

“Morning sunshine.”

 

“G’morning Dean, what’s time?”

 

Swivelling his wrist so I can look at the watch face, I read 9:14. My mother visits our grandparents every Sunday so will be gone in the next half hour. I tell Dean as much and he nods, apparently content to laze in the warmth streaming through the window. Noting the blinds have been pulled up and the window opened a fraction I ask him how long he’s been awake. 

 

“Like 10- 15 minutes max. I had a killer headache and went foraging for some water.”

 

“There’s painkiller in one of the desk drawers.” It comes out mumbled as I twist myself into the duvet, hiding my cold toes.

I assume from the scape of my drawers opening and the sound of a bottle cap dropping to the floor he is successful. Plunking down against my back, the springs grumble but hold his weight.

 

“Y’know last night, you had that dream. I’m kinda guessing that’s happened before and like, you were pretty freaked.” One of his elbows is resting lightly on the side of my ribs.

 

“Anyway when I had bad dreams as a kid, my mum taught me this sorta relaxation technique. It’s supposed to calm you so you can sleep again or something but you should try it.”

 

Twisting my head to look at him, I pat the arm resting on me.

“Show me.”

 

“Okay right, what you gotta do-“ Seemingly pleased I’ve been so agreeable, he takes hold of my wrist and stretches it out until my arm is fully extended. I shuffle so I’m laying on my back and can see what he’s doing above me.

 

“Hold your arm out like this and- this might feel weird but trust me”

 

With his free hand he starts at the very bottom of my palm, dragging his nails down the inside of my arm to the soft skin at my inner elbow. I shiver and my fingers twitch in his grip. Tingling weirdly but not unpleasantly, I find myself almost wanting him to graze his nails harder. He continues around my forearm before pausing to pull my t-shirt sleeve over my shoulder. Repeatedly he skirts his nails across my skin and my shoulders sink, releasing a tension I didn’t even know I’d been holding.

 

“How’d that feel.” He watches my face, anxiously.

I throw him a lax grin.

“Mmm really good.”

 

He chuckles and flushes. Continuing to my other arm, he leans across me, bicep resting on my chest. My fingers clench and curl around his hand holding them and I sigh, one of those bone deep ones.

 

“Harder.”

 

He pauses before acquiescing, nails raking my skin just enough to smart. My eyes are shut but I can feel him watching my face, following every twitch and movement. Each of his exhales sounds loud and breathy in the space between us.

 

“Cas.” He murmurs, it’s almost pleading but I don’t know what he wants.Retracting the hand not gripping my wrist, he touches his thumb to the cleft of my chin.It hasn’t been shaved in 2 days; the stubble catching.

Upon opening my eyes, he’s watching me with a desperation I haven’t seen before, it’s raw and unsure.

Like we’re fumbling in the dark for each other.

 

“Dean.” I breathe back, because he’s the only coherent thing bumbling around my head. I think he’s going to kiss me again, that I’m going to feel the imprint of his lips against mine, taste his tongue.

But of course the unpredictable bastard leans forward to rest our foreheads together instead. Our noses barely brushing. He sucks in a deep ravaged breath like I’ve been holding his head under water. Like he lost his nerve.

 

“I’m sorry Cas, I should go.” Making to stand, he pulls his face from mine suddenly. Like a vice, my fingers lock around his forearm.

 

“You can’t just do shit like this and run when it gets too much. You left me before, please don’t do it again.”

 

He considers me quietly for a moment, half stood, eyes wide and uncertain.

 

“Please Dean, you think this isn’t new for me too, that I’m not fucking scared.”

 

He sits again, slowly, tucking his legs neatly beneath him.

 

“I’m sorry Cas.” He keeps apologising when he’s done nothing wrong. “You’re right, I run when I get scared, just like my dad.”

There’s a self deprecating bark at the end that gnaws uncomfortably.

 

“You aren’t anything like your dad-“

 

“You’ve never even met the guy, Cas, you don’t fucking know.”

 

“But I know you. I know you’re brave and smart and righteous. I know you raised your brother and taught him those same values.”

 

Quietly fiddling with his knuckles, popping the joints, he doesn’t look at me.

 

“What do we do now?” When his eyes reach mine, they’re big like a child trying to look at the whole world at once.

 

“My mum’ll be gone now, we could go in and watch a film. Does Sam know where you are?”

 

“Yeah he texted late last night to say he’s at his buddy’s house, he won’t be back till later. And uh- a film sounds great.” He says it shyly enough to pull the corners of my mouth up.

 

“You’re cute like this.”

 

“Shut up Cas.”


End file.
